People of the Inner Sea (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  Klutaimnéstra bridled, stung by the councilor's words. "What are you saying? If Agamémnon sacrificed Ip'emédeya to ambition, what did I agree to? Are you implying that all this was a bargain that you and I made with the gods, my daughter’s life in exchange for their help in taking Argo into my own hands? Ai, you make me sound as heartless as Agamémnon! No, no, I cannot accept this. Qálki could have been fooled. It is possible," said the wánasha, tears welling up despite her efforts to suppress them.

  Aígist'o's forehead wrinkled with concern. "All right, my queen. Since it upsets you, I will say no more about our earlier discussions or the words of Qálki. Let us suppose the seer was deceived. But there were thousands of other witnesses to the sacrifice. What about all the soldiers? If even a single man suspected that Agamémnon was up to something, or learned later that he had not made the sacrifice as he was directed to, what would have happened? The troops would have deserted your husband. And did they? No, they did not. We know this because the Ak'áyans did sail to Wilúsiya."

  Klutaimnéstra waved her hands angrily. "But what is an army? Only men. Most of Agamémnon's soldiers were dull-witted, many of them only potters and bakers outside of the war season. If he could deceive a clever prophet, he could easily fool his troops," the queen argued. "I am sorry, Aígist'o, but I cannot take the chance of losing my daughter forever. I must talk to Agamémnon about this. We have to postpone our plans. There is no other way."

  Aígist'o sighed. He knelt before Klutaimnéstra and spoke more softly than before. "Owái, sweet lady, hear me out. I understand why this means so much to you. I do. Yes, it is barely possible that Qálki and the army were deceived, although I do not think it likely. Even so, Agamémnon could not have fooled the gods. You know this is true. But the gods must have been with them, in spite of everything Qálki did and said, because the army succeeded in taking the great city in the end and Meneláwo brought your sister back home."

  "But Qálki might have misunderstood our instructions," Klutaimnéstra said, casting about for any argument that would bolster Meneláwo's claim. "He might have…"

  Aígist'o took her hands in his, remaining on his knees. "No, my queen. It is true that Qálki was following our orders, doing what he could to delay the army's arrival in Assúwa. But he did this as a man of god accomplishes anything, by praying. He called upon to the sea god to use the waves as divine weapons against the Ak'áyan army. Do not deceive yourself by supposing that he called for Ip'emédeya's blood for such a profane reason. No, lady, Qálki had true sight. Events unfolded as they were destined to. Agamémnon's misdeeds truly angered the divine queen of the maináds. It was truly she who required your daughter's death. But the lady Artémito could not been deceived by any man, no matter how clever he might be. She would have known if a deer's heart had bled on her altar, no matter how many men were fooled. She would have held back the wind still longer and shot the men of the army with her invisible arrows of yet another pestilence if Agamémnon had attempted such a deception. But that did not happen. The plague ended. The wind came so that the army sailed to Assúwa. In the battles there, the gods ended up favoring Ak'áiwiya's warriors. So we can only conclude that Agamémnon did sacrifice Ip'emédeya. I am terribly sorry to say all this. I know that it pains you to hear my words. But you know that this is true. It has to be so." He pressed her soft hands to his lips. "It was fate."

  Klutaimnéstra's shoulders drooped, her eyes brimming. Her lips trembled and she whispered, "But Meneláwo seemed so sure…."

  Aígist'o rose. Gently, he put his long, thin arms around the queen and pressed her damp face to his shoulder. "My love, if Agamémnon deceived anyone, it was Meneláwo. His brother would not want to see his own niece die, of course, so there was his motive. But you must be realistic. Your poor, dear, princess Ip'emédeya is dead. She is in the bosom of Mother Diwiyána now. Her shade dwells in lady Préswa's land. You must accept this. You cannot have her back. We simply must press on with the plans we made before. This, too, is fate."

  Clinging to Aígist'o's embroidered robe, Klutaimnéstra wept.

  aaa

  Odushéyu met his fellow king in the corridor outside the bed-chambers. "We must stay in Argo," the It'ákan mariner hissed, grasping Meneláwo's arm. "You can see it, can you not? Klutaimnéstra is plotting against Agamémnon, I am sure of it. You forget that your first loyalty is to your own flesh and blood. Even if you are so impious as to brush that aside, it is our duty to our overlord to stay and help him against his wife."

  Meneláwo pushed him away, glancing fearfully to either side. "Be quiet or someone will hear us. You are free to do as you wish, Odushéyu. I have no power over you. But do not say anything more to me. I have made up my mind. I am not staying. In the morning I am taking my wife and child and my nephew and I am heading back to Tíruns to finish my journey. I plan to be at home in time for the winter solstice." He turned to the door of the nearest bed-chamber.

  "What is wrong with you?" Odushéyu growled at his back. "Are you a coward? Are you afraid of one fat woman and her priestly lover?"

  Meneláwo whirled abruptly and shoved Odushéyu hard against the wall, damaging the plaster with the pirate's head. "You have seen me fight often enough to know I am no coward," Meneláwo said through clenched teeth. "Why did I fight the Tróyans? Have you forgotten? It was to regain Ariyádna. Now that I have her at last, do you think I want to endanger her again? I realize that Klutaimnéstra is plotting against my brother. But I expected that. You and I both know that Agamémnon is plotting against her, at the same time. I have no intention of getting caught between the spearmen of my brother and those of my sister-in-law. Lakedaimón is my kingdom. My first loyalty, my first duty, is to the land I rule. So it should be with you. But if It'áka means nothing to you, stay in Mukénai. I do not care!" He released the other man and leaned against the wall, pressing a shaking hand to his injured side.

  Odushéyu backed away from the Lakedaimóniyan king, rubbing his head. He stared for awhile at Meneláwo, at the heaving shoulders, the forehead creased with pain. The mariner laughed, somewhat shakily. "Ai, Meneláwo, you are not as empty-headed as people think. You were right earlier when you said that war makes a man ill-mannered. Forget what I said to you just now. Your country comes before your brother, just as you say." He leaned against the wall beside the other man. "Ai gar, it is just that I do not think we know the whole story here. This husband and wife are angry because he sacrificed their daughter. Each blames the other. That is understandable. But anger is too flimsy a reason for civil war. No, if the sacrifice was their only quarrel, they would patch things up as soon as they saw each other. One would burst into tears, the other would follow, and in a moment they would be in each other's arms. Ai, Meneláwo, you and I both know there was bad blood between those two before Agamémnon ever left home. There is something more at work."

  Meneláwo would not look at his companion. "Perhaps. They often quarreled over who would marry their daughters. Qálki may have sent word of my brother's Wilúsiyan concubines, too. Klutaimnéstra is an old-fashioned woman and cannot stomach his adulteries, I know that for certain. Agamémnon definitely angered his wife when he made his bastard son the qasiléyu at Tíruns. You heard Klutaimnéstra curse Diwoméde. But in my opinion it is these things that are flimsy reasons for divorce, let alone for war. My brother is hardly the only king who has an illegitimate son, nor the only one who gave his bastard a minor post."

  Odushéyu scratched the thinning hair atop his head. "You may be right. Perhaps you are right about not getting involved, too. Agamémnon will throw the woman out in the street soon enough, without our help. He has most of Argo's men with him, after all, and they are battle-hardened." He laughed again, more heartily this time. "Ai, I suppose I just wanted an excuse to avoid going home."

  It was Meneláwo's turn to laugh, a genuine chuckle. "What, are you afraid of your meek, little Penelópa?"

  The mariner sighed and rubbed his scraggly beard. "I notice that Klutaimnéstra did no
t mention my islands tonight. She sends messages to every queen in Ak'áiwiya and knows the internal affairs of every kingdom. But she says nothing about It'áka, where her own cousin rules in my absence. That can only be a bad sign. I have to admit that I suspected as much already. The Wórdoyan boatmen brought me news while we were still in Assúwa. They said many queens planned to depose their husbands who were away, fighting at Tróya. The rumors spoke of my Penelópa as well as of Médeya and Klutaimnéstra."

  Meneláwo nodded sympathetically. "I heard those things myself. Ai gar, there is nothing more we can do about it now, though. Let us go to bed. I want to be off early tomorrow in case Agamémnon came across the sea as quickly as we did." A second time he turned to the chamber door.

  "But Meneláwo," Odushéyu said quickly, as the door opened. "There is one last thing that I do not understand. What is this about taking your nephew with you? Agamémnon will not be pleased to find his son gone, when he returns!"

  Meneláwo silently cursed his companion and pulled the door closed. "Klutaimnéstra asked me to take Orésta." He waved an impatient hand. "It has always been the custom for a woman's brother to take a hand in raising her sons. Klutaimnéstra has no living brothers, now, so who else should she turn to but me?"

  Odushéyu snorted. "Atréyu had no use for that old custom. His son will not find it any more pleasing. No, the queen wants Orésta out of the way for some other reason."

  Meneláwo could listen to no more. He struck Odushéyu in the jaw, knocking him to the plastered floor. Glaring over the fallen man, the Lakedaimóniyan king growled, "You will not draw me into your schemes, pirate. This matter is between my sister-in-law and me. I do not intend to discuss it with you any further. Now I am going to bed." This time Odushéyu did not prevent him from entering the dark room.

  Meneláwo closed the door behind himself carefully, trying not to make a sound. Hearing the quiet, rhythmic breathing of his wife and daughter, he sighed, exhausted. He took a small jug from his belt, a poppy-shaped flask he had kept hidden in the folds of his kilt and dropped his ragged clothing on the floor. With the small container in hand, he stepped carefully through the darkness, feeling his way to the bed. He slipped between warm fleeces and pressed his body close to Ariyádna's, pushing the juglet up behind the wooden headrest.

  His wife shuddered at his touch and turned toward him, half asleep, her hands out to push against his chest. "Owái, Dapashánda, no," she whimpered.

  Meneláwo soothed her with quiet words, stroking her curly hair. "It is all right, Ariyádna. It is me. I will not let anyone hurt you again."

  The woman relaxed under his caress, murmuring, "Ai, Meneláwo." She rested her face against her husband's hairy chest. In a sleepy voice, she said, "I did not see Ip'emédeya tonight. Do you suppose she is sick?"

  Meneláwo's heart began to pound. "Yes," he whispered to his wife, his broad hand still on her hair, "she is sick."

  "Ai, poor little bird," Ariyádna sighed and sleep overtook her again.

  When his wife's breathing was smooth and deep once more, Meneláwo drew the poppy flask out and removed the dried fig that closed its spout. "Owái, Diwiyána," he sighed to the silent room, "what have I done?" With a quiet moan, he took a deep swallow of the juglet's contents.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'IQODAMEYA

  The morning dawned with clear skies. At breakfast, Orésta learned that he was leaving with his aunt and uncle. He threw a tantrum, breaking a good many dishes before Aígist'o quieted him with blows from his belt. The boy was still sniffing when the party left the citadel, no longer protesting, but unhappy under Meneláwo's guiding hand.

  Before the city's main gate, Aígist'o sacrificed a goat to the god of journeys, 'Érme, and Klutaimnéstra called on the deity to guard the travelers until they reached their homes. The visitors prepared to leave, accompanied by a donkey cart filled with presents from their host. Klutaimnéstra gave her departing sister several fine garments in various patterns of many colors, stripes, shells, and pale rosettes on a dark background. For Meneláwo and Odushéyu, she added warm, woolen cloaks. But she sent no bronze with them.

  "She gave us no jars of oil or wine, no horses, or painted chariots, nor even a small bit of metal," the It'ákan wánaks bitterly noted, “nothing but a little cast-off clothing from a forgotten storeroom! What kind of hospitality is that? Ai, 'Érme himself must be offended to see wayfarers sent off with such measly gifts." Once on their way, Odushéyu pointed out to Meneláwo, too, that the sacrificial ram had been extraordinarily thin. The Argive wánasha's blessing had been unusually brief, as well.

  But the Lakedaimóniyan wánaks ignored the It'ákan's ominous hints, interrupting the string of complaints. "I know what you want, Odushéyu," Meneláwo grunted. "But my mind is made up and you cannot change it with any amount of clever words." He set his eyes on the east, where Tíruns lay at the end of the day's travel.

  Along the roads, the country people did not flock to greet the wagons, as they had on the earlier journey. The plowed fields they passed had been sown with wheat and barley while the commoners had still awaited the return of Ak'áiwiya's great army. Now, the first green shoots were breaking through the soil. It was this seasonal rhythm that held the attention of the country folk. With unusual fervor, the villagers were occupied with singing hymns to Kórwa, the maiden goddess now rising from beneath the earth. They ignored the passing carts, concentrating on their labors. With wooden hammers, the farmers broke the heavy clods of earth around the new green shoots, anxiously praying, "Mother Diwiyána, you have your divine daughter again at your side. Now pity us, your human children. Pour the waters of the sky on our fields or next summer we will be eating the seed grain."

  With the same heartfelt emotion, Meneláwo prayed for the clouds to stay away. "No rain, just for a little longer, lady Diwiyána," he whispered to the great goddess, spilling more than a little wine before the evening meal. "Keep the last leg of our sea journey safe from storms."

  aaa

  Where the Lakedaimóniyans and their island neighbors had begun their journey, on the Assúwan shore, the army of Ak'áiwiya held its final assembly. Summoned by blasts from a conch shell and ululating calls, the men of northern and southern Ak'áiwiya gathered. One last time they dressed and armed in battle gear. Circular shields of ox-hide, most heavily patched and torn, rested on their left arms. In their right hands they carried spears, some with broken shafts, the bronze heads of others bent beyond repair. Their linen kilts were threadbare and faded and their feet were bare. On their heads, the northerners of high rank wore their crowns of feathers, leather or bronze helmets adorning the officers of the south.

  Before them all, on a low grave mound overlooking the Inner Sea, stood Agamémnon. His body was ringed from neck to knee in solid bands of bronze. Though scratched and dented, the armor had been cleaned, and polished with olive oil until it gleamed. The hem of the overlord's tunic, hanging beneath the shining bronze, was as patched and worn as the garments of the soldiers. But, alone among the men, he wore leather sandals. His paramount rank was evident to all.

  In his right hand Agamémnon raised a wooden staff capped with enameled birds of prey. "Men of Ak'áiwiya!" he called out, his voice booming out over the assembled troops. "As custom demands, we have feasted for nine days to thank the gods for our victory. Today is the tenth since Tróya fell. At dawn, I made the Great Sacrifice for your sakes. You were my witnesses to it, the second great offering I have made for the good of all Ak'áiwiya. My dagger slit the throat of a Tróyan princess, the youngest daughter of Wilúsiya's fallen king. Because of Piyaséma's blood, the vengeful spirit of the sea god is appeased. Lord Poseidáon will grant us safe passage home, now, despite the fact that we burned his city. Great Díwo, angry god of the storm, has been calmed. He will shelter us from evil winds in our journey across the sea, now, in spite of any sacrilege that may have been committed by a warrior of Ak'áiwiya. My brother Ak'áyans, do not let the season trouble you any longer. It is only aut
umn. Winter is still a month away and the gods are with us. Our ships will soon be drawn up on the shores of our home nations in Ak'áiwiya."

  The wind whipped the men's battered bodies and their cheers came wearily, as they lifted spears and shields with aching, wounded limbs. "Díwo!"

  The Ak'áyan overlord turned, stiff in his banded armor, to observe all his troops. As he continued, at his every phrase, the assembled warriors lifted their blood-stained weapons and called the name of their high god, in triumph. "Ak'áiwiya will never forget what we have done here!" Agamémnon shouted. "Tróya was the greatest western outpost of the Náshiyan empire and we have destroyed it."

  "Díwo!" cried the men.

  "Dáwan's city is in ruins," Agamémnon went on. "Her men are slaughtered, her women and children bound in the holds of our ships, destined for Ak'áyan slavery. Rejoice in this victory, men. The Tróyans raped the 'Elléniyan queen. But we have taken her back and the Tróyan royal women as slaves and concubines, into the bargain. Vengeance is ours!"